


Two Sets of Luck

by lavvyan



Category: Boa vs. Python (2004), Thoughtcrimes (2003)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:19:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavvyan/pseuds/lavvyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are days when Brendan really hates his job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Sets of Luck

There were days when he really hated his job, Brendan thought morosely as he half-trudged, half-skidded through the mud. Days like this one, when it wasn't raining so much as pouring, which left him wet, cold and miserable. Mud was caking his jeans all the way up to his knees, making the fabric even heavier than it already was. Water was running into his eyes, dripping out of his hair, which was plastered to his skull. Not that it mattered, much, because the wind had picked up and was whipping the rain into his face. He could hardly see the nearest trees, let alone deeper into the surrounding woods.

Yes, he really, really hated his job. At least he wasn't wearing a suit.

He shouldn't have taken this mission. Freya was out for the count thanks to the flu, and Harper, that repressed asshole, had thought it a good idea to send Brendan to the end of the world, or at least Virginia, for what had been supposed to be an easy takedown.

 _Not that easy,_ Brendan thought, groaning as he slipped on some wet leaves. He managed to keep himself upright, but the sudden movement jarred the bullet wound in his side, and he stumbled a little before he regained his footing. It was a clean shot; the bullet had gone right through, missing everything vital as far as he could tell. Not for lack of trying, though. Instead of just one man, there had been seven, opening fire as soon as Brendan and his men had arrived on scene. Brendan had been hit almost immediately, just above his hip where the vest didn't reach, and then Patel had taken a bullet into the arm, and Walker into his knee – lucky, they'd all been damn lucky – and Brendan had ordered a strategic retreat. No way in hell was he letting his people risk their lives in a shootout they couldn't win.

The insistent crossfire had cut off his way to the van. That had left the damn woods his only option if he wanted to get away alive.

Brendan didn't like forests. To him, they were nothing but organic labyrinths designed to make people lose their way, so different from the clearly arranged streets of New York. Even with an eidetic memory, it was hard not to get lost between thousands of trees that all looked identical, especially in the downpour.

He slipped again, this time losing his balance and falling, hitting the soggy ground with a splash, getting mud all over his face, into his mouth. He yelled at the pain, his whole side feeling like it was aflame, taking his breath away and making him fight to stay conscious.

It didn't work. His vision became blurred, and he felt oddly detached from the rest of the world, his focus narrowing until even the rain still pattering down on him faded out to nothing.

He thought he saw a light moving towards him as his body relaxed deeper into the mud, the sludge cold and slimy under his cheek. Before he could determine if he was hallucinating, though, he passed out.

~~~

He woke up in a cocoon of warmth, blinking into the fabric of a plain white pillow. He was also dry, which right now seemed like the definition of bliss. And, all right, he was naked, which was a bit strange, but warmth and dryness worked together to make him feel rather mellow about that particular detail.

Clutching the covers to his chest, Brendan sat up, slowly. The wound in his side was dressed, burning with the sting of what had to be an antiseptic, and his clothes were folded neatly on a nearby chair. He must've been out for quite a while, if whoever had brought him here had found the time to wash and dry his stuff.

His legs were wobbly as he stood, but he made it over to the chair and started to get dressed. Ever the NSA agent, he couldn't help but notice the small details of the bedroom he was standing in. A broad bed with two pillows, but nothing about the odd bits and pieces lying around spoke of more than one person living here. There was a rather cheap wristwatch, a small hi-fi block with a few albums of mostly Canadian rock bands scattered around it, a book on ophidophobia – fear of snakes? – and its manifestations in western culture, a half-full bottle of water, two old issues of _Hustler._ He'd go out on a limb here and say this was the bedroom of a guy, somewhere in his thirties to forties. Probably academic.

There was a black t-shirt on the chair, a yellow post-it note stuck to it. _Sorry. Shirt's ruined._ Brendan raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and cautiously pulled the fabric over his head. The movement hurt, but not as much as he'd anticipated. Picking up his jacket, he noted that while his wallet and keys were there, his vest and gun very much weren't.

So his saviour was still a little cautious when taking half-dead, armed, strangers home, huh? Good thought.

Suddenly thirsty, he picked up the water and emptied the bottle. Then he went to find his mystery guy.

The bedroom door led to a short, dark corridor. He couldn't find a light switch, so he left the door open, navigating by what little light spilled from the bedroom into the hall. Reaching the other end, he opened the door. It led into another hall, this one all sharp edges and marble. He could either open the large steel door to his left or follow the hall further down. Shrugging, he pressed down the handle.

Brendan blinked at the cold, harsh light that greeted him, and then gaped at the sight. He was standing on a platform overlooking some kind of laboratory, a large room with monitors and pictures lining the walls, and various equipment running and blinking. Klaxons were blaring, announcing his presence, but his attention was captured by the two dozen terrariums and aquariums placed all over the room. They held snakes in different colours and sizes, giving the lab a strange 'mad scientist' flair.

In the middle of the room, there was a simple metal desk holding a computer monitor and a keyboard – and yet more snakes. In front of it, a man was sitting, watching him. The guy was in his early thirties, Brendan guessed, with longish brown hair that looked matted and a little greasy, wearing a black t-shirt and khaki cargo pants. Kind of handsome in a quirky way, if you liked the type, with his crooked mouth and large blue eyes.

Brendan felt incredibly self-conscious as he walked down the metal steps to the bottom of the lab and over to who he figured was the one who'd gotten him out of the rain and cleaned up his wounds, for whatever reason.

"Hi. I'm Brendan Dean." When the other man didn't say anything, he added, "NSA."

"I know," was his answer. Slight accent, Canadian. "Your credentials are in your wallet."

"So you peeked?"

"Hmm."

Obviously, this snake scientist or whatever he was didn't feel very chatty. Did he have something to hide?

"I notice you didn't call the paramedics."

"The road up here is a little tricky in this weather. I wouldn't want the ambulance to drive into a tree. And by the time the rain slowed down, you were doing fine."

"Ah." That sounded like a good reason. Too bad Brendan had no way of telling if it was actually true.

"Speaking of the weather: what were you doing out there?" he asked, then grimaced at the sound of that question. That guy had probably saved his life, and here he was interrogating him.

The guy didn't seem offended, though. He even grinned a little as he stuck out his hand. Brendan grasped it automatically.

"Emmett. I'm a herpetologist; that's a biologist specialising on reptiles and amphibians. This here," he gestured at the various equipment and terrariums, "is the Longreen Snake Reserve, owned and run by me. As for what I was doing outside, there are a few species of snakes around here that come out during heavy rainfalls. I was simply collecting specimen."

Brendan couldn't help but wonder if he'd passed some kind of test, as the man – Emmett, no last name? – was suddenly much more relaxed than only a minute ago. And he _was_ the one who had saved him, so he guessed the man deserved at least a thanks.

"And stumbled over me, huh? Well, thank you for not letting me lie around in the mud."

"You're welcome." Emmett shrugged, then he tilted his head. "Do you want to contact your people? Let them know you're still alive?"

"Probably a good idea," Brendan agreed. Ten minutes later, he handed Emmett's wireless phone back to the scientist, after describing Terri where he was and how to get there.

"They'll send a car, pick me up in about two hours."

"Hmm."

There was a moment of silence, then Brendan gestured towards a huge high security door.

"What's back there?"

"Betty. She's a scarlet queen boa, one of the rarest snakes in the world," Emmett explained, looking proud. "I raised her myself."

Against his will, Brendan was impressed.

"Can I see her?"

"No. The last time I let some government type in to see her, she almost died, so you'll forgive my hesitation." Emmett smiled slightly, taking the sting out of his refusal. "But hey, if you're interested, I could give you the grand tour."

Brendan shrugged.

"Sure."

It wasn't like he had anything better to do.

The grand tour wasn't actually all that grand, including mostly unused labs and more snakes. Emmett was really good at explaining their different classes and general behaviour, sketching the outlines of the work he was doing, trying to find a universal antidote against snake venom. It was interesting, but after a while, Brendan's side started to hurt, and they returned to the large laboratory, where he could sit down and take a few Tylenol and watch Emmett demonstrate his equipment.

Speaking of equipment: the more time Brendan spent with the scientist, the more he noticed that the man was actually pretty nice to look at. His arms were surprisingly muscular, his skin slightly toned, and the day-old beard stubble made him look almost… rakish.

The way his cargo pants accentuated his round little ass didn't hurt, too.

"So what are you doing out here all by yourself? That's a whole lot of room for one man."

"Hmm. This wasn't actually meant to be a private lab. At least, not _this_ private." Emmett grimaced. "The ever elusive government funding, you know?"

"Well, I guess it can be pretty convenient, all that room for yourself." Brendan grinned suggestively, thinking about those two _Hustlers,_ only belatedly realising they didn't know each other nearly well enough for that kind of remark.

Emmett blinked at him, surprised and a little distrusting, then suddenly, he grinned.

"At least no one's asking any questions when I go picking up strangers," he said, clearly amused.

"You can pick me up any time. Nobody ever washed my clothes before while I was lying naked in their bed."

Without really knowing how they'd gotten to this point, Brendan started to flirt, and Emmett flirted right back, almost playfully. The talk about snakes and their hiding holes became a series of bad double entendres, and when Emmett announced his snake was the biggest in the world, Brendan dissolved into laughter, unable to stop until the pain in his side reminded him that he better upset his wound as little as possible.

Emmett stared at him, a bemused smile on his face.

"That's the worst laugh I ever heard."

"That was the worst _pun_ I ever heard. I bet your snake isn't any bigger than other… snakes."

"I'll have you know that mine is a very special snake," Emmett said haughtily, his lips twitching. "Its length and beauty surpass that of any other snake known to man."

"I'm sure it does," Brendan said dryly. "Too bad you won't let me see it."

"Please. Like I'd show my snake to just about anyone."

And off they were again.

It had to be the shortest two hours ever, because to Brendan, it seemed like they passed in no time at all. And he couldn't help being a little disappointed when Emmett handed him his vest and his gun, accompanying him to the waiting car. They stopped next to it, and Emmett cleared his throat.

"Well, then. I guess this is farewell."

Brendan surprised himself with how much he didn't want this to be the only time they saw each other. Hoping that it wouldn't turn out to be a mistake, he made a decision.

"Oh, I'd like to come back when this case is over, maybe stay a few days. I need to say thank-you properly, and you still haven't shown me your special snake." He waggled his eyebrows at the last two words, hoping he didn't come over as nervous as he suddenly felt.

Emmett's eyes widened a little, then he grinned. It looked wicked and lopsided and really, really hot.

"Any time you like. My, uh, snake and me will be waiting."

Brendan laughed, gave a last little wave, and got into the car. On the way to the small airport a few miles along the road, he grinned, shaking his head a little. He really got to meet the strangest people through his job.

Maybe he didn't hate it that much, after all.


End file.
